San Antonio, Texas -- For those who've been fortunate enough visit this town, famous for the Alamo, George Gervin's finger roll and, now, Mrs. Tony Parker, the Riverwalk makes for a fond memory. The restaurants . . . the shops . . . the colors on the river's waters . . . the trees and flowers . . . the nooks and crannies . . . the works.

It's always a terrific place, the Riverwalk is, morning, noon or night. But, if one is a basketball fan, it is particularly fascinating during events such as the Final Four because the area is teeming with hoops people -- head coaches, assistant coaches, current players, former players, etc. -- of all kinds. And at so many tables and along so much of the winding walkways, the talk is of jump shots, both made and missed.

Division I . . . Division II . . . Division III . . . it doesn't matter. There are basketball people here from all levels who've come to watch and gab, to schmooze and gossip, to commiserate and exaggerate. And some can even use the Riverwalk to escape.

This morning, for instance, as so many folks were sleeping off whatever needed sleeping off, Roy Williams was quietly strolling.

There was Roy, the famous coach of the North Carolina Tar Heels, along with his wife . . . and there was me, the not-so-famous writer of The Post-Standard, along with my bride. And as we passed and shared nods and pleasant "Good mornings," it dawned on me that no matter how much longer Williams stays in this town -- whether he goes home after losing on Saturday night to Kansas, or stays on with his Tar Heels through Monday's NCAA Tournament championship game against either UCLA or Memphis -- today's promenade may well end up representing the man's only peaceful moments during his trip to Texas.

I had another thought, too, and it wasn't quite so warm and fuzzy. It was of Tom Crean, the new head coach at Indiana who until this week had run the show at Marquette, one of the Big East Conference's recent imports that the league didn't really need but grabbed, anyway.

It wasn't but 18 months or so ago that Marquette signed Crean to a contract extension that was to take him through the year 2017 . . . or until Alex Rodriguez's last purported season with the Yankees in New York when he, A-Rod, would be 42 and fully into DH mode. But, no. Despite supposedly committing to the little school in Milwaukee and despite recruiting players with the stated or inferred understanding that he, Crean, would be at Marquette for years and years, the man bolted for Bloomington and all those Indiana dollars (and headaches).

Which means, of course, that Tom Crean had not committed at all.

Hey, I'm a big boy. I know how the world works. I understand the whole concept of the pursuit of opportunity. But I still wonder about coaches, especially, who preach about "loyalty" and "family" and "commitment" to their athletes, the families of those athletes and to the folks who support their vaunted "programs" . . . and then, just take off when they hear the Sirens' song.

I know a former college football player who swears that a thought out there among those with no more eligibility is that too many coaches greet their former players sort of like this: "How are you and, by the way, who are you?" And you know something? I can believe that. In fact, I do believe that.

Why, some day down the road it might happen that Tom Crean will bump into Dominic James and stammer, "I know you from somewhere, don't I?"

Anyway, I've arrived in this town, not so very far removed from the Mexican border (well, compared to Syracuse), and it's picking time. So, here I go: UCLA over Memphis and North Carolina over Kansas.